After a spell, Wingate comes to join me in the box seats, putting his arm around my shoulder and shaking me hard once, and then again.
“Can you believe it, Ren? We’ve finally arrived. This isn’t anything like it was before, is it?”
I shake my head. “We’ve all come a long way from the kids we once were.” I think back to the three of us, outcasts in our own little world, dreaming of bigger places and bigger cities. For Mack, Charlotte was only the beginning. It seemed like an end. But now we know better. California was always the place we were headed.
The game rolls on, and I watch intently. Mack performs better than he ever has, making the team proud. I stand to cheer, raising my hand above my head with Wingate. There’s a sudden shift in my body when I do that, like the baby dropping, or something tightening around my waist.
“Ugh,” I groan, bringing my other hand down to massage my side. The muscles there are rock hard, like I’ve been doing sit-ups for the past three hours.
Wingate looks at me with concern. “You okay, Ren? Mack told me to rush you to the hospital at any sign of distress.” There’s a hint of laughter in his statement, but his eyes show real concern.
“No, no. We’re going to stay for the game. It’s probably just those practice contractions they tell you about. I think they’re called Braxton Hicks.” I know damn well what they’re called, and I haven’t had many of them my whole pregnancy. My whole brain screams at me that this is not what’s happening here, but still, I let Wingate help me down into the chair. I’m staying for the game. This might well be the beginning of labor, but first time moms can get this type of thing weeks before the baby arrives. It’s likely my body preparing for the main event—and not the main event itself. Right now, this game is the main event that both Wingate and I need to be paying attention to. I’m only thirty-eight weeks… and the women in my family go until at least forty-one weeks. I couldn’t be different, could I?
As the game intensifies, the other team getting passes in I didn’t see coming, I keep my mind and my eyes focused on my amazing husband. He performs like he never has before. I like to think it’s because I’m sitting up here in the stands. And I like to think it’s because we have this beautiful little girl on the way.
I pat my belly and feel that tightening sensation again, this time accompanied by a sharp, strange pain deep in my abdomen. I clench my jaw tight.
Stay in there, baby. This is not happening tonight.
Wingate looks over at me again in concern, as if he can tell my belly is growing hard every ten minutes or so. And maybe quicker than that.
“They’re just practice contractions, I’m pretty sure,” I say, smiling through clenched teeth.
“You’re pretty sure? Mack said that if you say that we need to go to the hospital. He knows how you are at these games.” Wingate stands up and offers me a hand. I get the sense that he and Mack have been colluding behind my back, and I shake my head with annoyance.
“No, Wingate. I’m not going to the hospital. It’s early and —ah!” I grab my belly again. Is labor supposed to feel like this? I wasn’t paying attention during that part of the natural birthing class. But I guess I should have been. Instead, I vaguely remember collapsing into laughter with Macklin, over something the hospital’s teacher had said. I can’t even remember it now…
Suddenly, my head feels light and far away. “I think I’m fine. I just might need to close my eyes for a second.” The pain makes my eyes jolt open wide, and I grip my belly again. The game is closing up, and it’s looking like California won. I smile, knowing Mack had a hand in it, that he’ll be up here soon, that we’ll be going home together at the end of the night. Just like it always should have been.
“Renata, I don’t like how you’re looking,” Wingate drawls, trying to take my hand to pull me up. “It’s been a few hours of this now…”
“Has it? It seems like it’s been minutes—ah!” The pain catches me off guard again. There’s a gripping, grinding sensation deep inside my belly. The normal tightening feeling is still there, and I think that’s something I should feel. But the other thing—the grinding—that’s not right. I take Wingate’s hand and reluctantly stand. There’s an audible pop somewhere inside, and a warm rush of fluid travels down my legs.
“Renata—uh—is that…?”
“My water? I—I don’t know—I think the class said you’re not supposed to hear a pop. Or most women don’t. Or something like that. I’m not sure—” I’m looking around wildly, trying to remember the last time I felt the baby kick, trying to remember what the labor book said, and what the one about hypnobirthing said. In the haze of confusion, I realize I’ve probably read too much, and I can’t sort out any of the information now that I might actually be in labor. I might be… Am I?